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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404050">I Know Your Name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redleaders/pseuds/redleaders'>redleaders</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eventual Smut, F/M, Grogu Ships It, Mandalorian Lore, Mythology - Freeform, Research Heavy, Slow Burn, are you a jedi?, confused!din, dadalorian and momalorian, enough fluff to rot your teeth, soft!Din</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:14:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redleaders/pseuds/redleaders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kar'ta hasn't seen another true Mandalorian in nine years, since the destruction of her homeworld: Mandalore. At the call of an old friend, she journeys to the heart of Tatooine, and finds more than just armor.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which Grogu finally gets his parents.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cassian Andor/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Mando'ade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span><strong>The man caressed the woman’s face.</strong> Their foreheads were touching. Eyes closed. His hand wiped the tears from underneath her eyes. She didn’t look because she was afraid. He didn’t look because he loved her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cur autem vadam?” She whispered, her voice breaking like veins through a fragile slab of marble. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Est meum officium, Kar’ta,” he whispered back, his lips ghosting over the ridge of her cheekbone. He wanted to open his eyes. She knew this. She could feel it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can look, before you go, Cassian,” she murmured against his skin, her tears salting her palette and making her feel sick. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>For a moment, he didn’t say anything. She wondered if he was looking.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But when she opened her eyes, his were still closed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll look when I get back,”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“When I get back, Kar’ta. I won’t look until we wed. I know how much this means to you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her smile was tainted by tears, and not wanting her to suffer any longer, he captured her lips in his own, savoring the taste of her, as if it would be the last time he could.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Slowly, his hands lowered a helmet over her head of golden hair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She opened her eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Te amo, meos utrimque solem,” he said, leaning down to press his forehead to the beskar that covered her own.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta woke up, a deep and painful breath shredding through her insides.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, it was hard to comprehend her own surroundings. She was hot, and grains of sand rubbed the skin beneath her several layers of dark linen and armor raw. She took inventory of herself, and everything seemed to be in its place. Red and silver armor, still fitted against each and every crevice of her body. Helmet on and working. Axe at her hip. Shield and jetpack on her back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A breath escaped. Relief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was just a dream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t want to think about it anymore than her subconscious mind had allowed, and so, she picked herself up from the desert floor she had called home for the night, beneath the shade of a fallen star destroyer, and hopped on a speeder. The vessel was old and worn down, but it was the best she could pick up from Tosche Station in this economy. After the fall of the Empire, prices were so inflated that the old speeder had almost cost her everything she had to her name. Kar’ta did consider herself a good negotiator, but it wasn’t because of her words. All it took was one glance at her armor, at the signet of a triangle upon her shoulder plate, and the axe at her hip, and she could get almost anything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not this time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought with chagrin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rickety speeder did manage to do the trick though. It had taken her from point a to point b, and she was sure she’d make it to Mos Pelgo by sundown.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of the wind whipping past her helmet-covered face was almost enough to drown out the blinking of her comm. She tapped the side of her helm, a notification ticking through her viewport, before the image of a man came into view.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Boba,” Kar’ta acknowledged, one eye focused on the image of the holocron while the other navigated the terrain she flew through. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kar’ta,” Boba Fett said, a tone of deep commanding and respect. “Are you on Tatooine yet?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have been for a while,” Kar’ta said, her voice calm and smooth. “I’m on my way to the lead now. With luck, you’ll have your armor back by sunrise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Boba Fett chuckled, the steely sound of his laughter prickling her ears. “You treat me too well, little one.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta smiled a bit, and ended the comm without another word. She didn’t need to say anything else, really. Her relationship with Boba Fett was… Well… One of few words.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been so since she was much younger. After the destruction of her home planet and people, Kar’ta fled Mandalore to the planet she figured she was least likely to be chased to. There was no better choice than Tatooine. It was there that she crossed paths with Boba Fett. At the time, she had nothing but her armor to her name, and thus began her long and steady trek through the desert. On the third day, when she was so delirious in dehydration that she collapsed on the sand, unable to move, she was rescued. It was Boba. He didn’t remove her helmet. He fed her water for two days, and provided her safety until she was strong enough to leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ever since that day, she had given him anything he wanted. Collected bounties for him. Defended him. Established contacts. But with time, she had grown restless, as all Mandalorians did. She missed her home. Her heart ached with love-longing so severely, every day, that when she awoke her visor would be fogged over with the tears she had cried the night before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And so, she had left him, not that long ago. In hopes of finding others like herself, to bring stability back to her home. To find who was left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But even still, when Boba Fett called, she answered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had been missing his armor ever since she knew him. And the second he got a lead on who might have it, he reached out to her. No one was more capable of getting it back than Kar’ta. And she owed him this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s why she was on a decrepit speeder, flying toward one of the loneliest towns in the galaxy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ride through the actual town was short. It was like a place full of ghosts. Haunted and solemn faces stared at her in trepidation as she maneuvered through the small straightaway. She didn’t know who she was supposed to be looking for, or if they were even still here. The one thing she did know was that she wanted to spend as little time as possible here. It reminded her too much of things she’d rather forget.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is what it would be like, to cruise through Mandalore,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she imagined, her eyes resting upon a child who sat on the steps of his homestead, sleeplessness creasing his under eyes and waning at his figure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It made her muscles coil in anger. No doubt, whoever wore Boba’s armor was the one terrorizing these people. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Up ahead, there was a speeder parked alongside the door of what looked to be a cantina. Kar’ta smarted at the thought of how business must be doing, with the poor size of this town. Her finger tapped the side of her helmet, infrared alighting her field of view. It took a moment for the heat signature to register, but once it did, she saw two humanoids, and two unidentifiables, one with a height of no more than a foot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That didn’t bode well. Truthfully, she hoped it would be easy. Even though her clan and upbringing had centered upon one’s ability to fight and overcome, she wasn’t feeling it today. She was tired.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It showed, in the way she sighed as she hopped nimbly off the speeder. Her bones cracked in slight protest through the heavy beskar that clung to her form. She gave herself a onceover, making sure that her armor was in place and that all of her weapons were secure, and then she entered the cantina.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A Weequay stood behind the bar, his eyes watching something she could not see with trepidation and weariness. She didn’t even have time to assess her surroundings. Something tiny and gentle clawing at the space on her calf where her armor connected, gripping her leg in a feeble attempt to protect itself. Her hand darted to the axe on her hip, but the second her eyes turned down, she let go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A little child - a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>green</span>
  </em>
  <span> child. His eyes were huge, the size of tiny saucers, and the deepest shade of black Kar’ta had ever seen. They looked up into her visor, pools of stress, worry, and darkness. But the feeling of his tiny fingers on her leg drew an inexplicable warmth from the center of her heart. It reminded her of a Mandalorian dessert her mother used to make, </span>
  <em>
    <span>por’il’a</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a concoction of melted sugarcane and blue milk. The memory hit her squarely in the face, her eyes swimming in a stunning blow. What was this child doing to her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He patted her leg gingerly, a tiny cooing noise coming from his mouth. Like he knew. Like he was saying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want you to remember.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like it’s my lucky day. Two Mandalorians. How fitting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes turned up to face the voice. Across from her stood a lanky man whose skin was adorned with Boba’s armor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bingo.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He eyed her up and down with a semblance of fear and excitement, a mixture she wasn’t intending to take apart. But at that moment, that man meant nothing to her. Nor did the stolen armor on his body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was the other man. The one who stood next to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gar cuyir mandokar?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her words were little short of a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was tall. Large. Domineering. Covered head to foot in fine polished beskar, a blaster in hand, and a signet on his shoulder. His helmeted head watched her severely, so severely that it made her head spin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn’t seen another Mandalorian in nine years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ni cuy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta couldn’t contain the smile that erupted beneath her helmet. He was true, she could tell. No outsider knew how to speak their language, it had been kept hidden for so many years. But she did not understand his signet. It sat on his pauldron in the shape of a mudhorn, for which she was sure his clan was named. He must have been a Child of the Watch, then, a foundling. That distinction, to a true Mandalorian, meant nothing. As long as his life was sworn to the Creed, it meant little what blood ran underneath his skin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta nodded her head to him, a showing of respect, which he returned, and then turned her eyes back to the man standing across from them both.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have come for this armor,” she said, gesturing to it. “It doesn’t belong to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta was vaguely aware that the Mandalorian to her right was still staring at her. She felt it too. But her job was important. There were very few things that could break her from carrying out her word.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He said the same thing,” the man scoffed, grabbing his discarded helmet. “Now, where you two come from, I’m sure you call all the shots. But I’m the one who tells everyone what to do around here. So I’m not just gonna let you take it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta’s hand dropped to her axe. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am prepared to fight for that armor. But I’ll tell you now, it won’t end well for you. I have never been defeated.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta’s thick Mandalorian accent adds a sting to her words. But before anyone could retort, the ground beneath her began to shake. The child at her feet, whom she hadn’t even had time to address, gripped her leg with a tiny cry. Her hands picked him up without question, but the Mandalorian across from her tore the child away from her without a word. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Truthfully, a small part of her was hurt. It was very obvious that this child belonged to the Mando, and it was forbidden to harm another Mandalorian’s child or foundling, regardless of any clan feuds. But more than that, she didn’t understand how anything could want to bring harm to the little green bug. He awoke that maternal part inside of her that had laid dormant for so many years, since her clan had been killed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta didn’t have time to express her discontent. They were all walking toward the door, where the view of the tumultuous quaking of the sand was much more clear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She held her axe, knowing full well it was going to do absolutely nothing to stall whatever was powerful enough to shake the earth like this. Outside, receivers and windmills fell into the earth, as though the sand had suddenly decided it was capable of not being hard, and instead wanted to swallow everything whole. The violent chaos moved in a straight line, running right through the middle of town, until a monster sailed out from beneath the earth, swallowing an entire bantha in one motion. It disappeared in an instant. And left behind seas of crumbling sand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta’s mouth hung wide.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>haran</span>
  </em>
  <span> was that?” She asked, turning her attention back to the imposter in Boba’s armor. A grim look had overcome his face, as if he had been asked this question too many times.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A krayt dragon. Been tearing up this town for months, made us lose a lot of our own,” he lamented, grief squaring itself on his shoulders. “I’ve tried, but I can’t figure out how to get it to stand down. Or go somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta had been put off by his dishonorable nature at first. Wearing the armor of a Mandalorian was sacrilege. But she could see it in his eyes. He did care about his people. He cared a lot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dank farrik.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta had resolved the perfect way to get Boba’s armor back, one that didn’t include her wasting her breath on killing someone. Her noble nature annoyed her, but she couldn’t ignore it. This was the Way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I will help you kill the dragon,” Kar’ta spoke, her voice solid and clear. “Mando and I will both help you. And in return, you will give me that armor back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal, you got yourself one helluva deal. And the name’s Cobb, Cobb Vanth.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta reached out her hand to shake Vanth’s, but something cold and steely tugged her wrist away. She huffed in annoyance, pulling her arm free from the grip of Mando, and staring daggers through her own visor, and into his. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His shoulders were set in a way that suggested he was brooding. That was a trait Kar’ta was not a fan of. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” He asked, his voice still as calm and controlled as it had been earlier, even with the indignance behind it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta looked at Vanth, before taking a menacing step toward the Mando, her chin raising up a considerable amount so that her eyes could reach his face. He was tall. But she didn’t care. What she lacked in height she made up for in valiance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mando’ade gaa’tayl mando’ade</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she seethed, her finger pointing right at where his nose was behind his helmet. “This is the Way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He made no sound, not one single sound, as he stared down at her. The stand off wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a common occurrence, in Mandalorian culture. To test the limits of your opponents patience, to see just how far the Creed would push them. It was all in an attempt to gain one’s final place in the</span>
  <em>
    <span> Manda</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There was a constant struggle to prove oneself. To prove one’s worth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even this Mando understood that. Kar’ta could tell. He might not have come from Mandalore, but he understood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The little green baby cooed in his arms, reaching his tiny fingers out toward Kar’ta as she faced off with the Mando. He made some kind of sound, a scoff somewhere between resignation and understanding.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tucked the baby further into his arm, and held out his hand.</span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll help you, if you help me with a mission of my own after.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hand stretched toward her confidently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was nervous about saying yes. He said nothing of his mission, for all she knew, it could be suicide. But she couldn’t say no. She was bound.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is the Way,” she murmured, shaking his hand curtly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is the Way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like that,” Vanth said from behind Mando. “Stop doing that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta rolled her eyes, and picked up the Mandalorian’s rifle off the ground. The neatly ordered machine was made of the same class beskar as her armor, and was heavier than she anticipated. Offering it slowly to the Mandalorian, she took that opportunity to give the kid another good look over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gazed at Kar’ta with his gigantic eyes, squinting ever so slightly as he showed his teeth in what she could only guess was an attempt at a smile. She offered her finger to him, letting him hold tight between his own, and tickled his little belly softly. The sound he made was delighted, a cheerful explosion of giggles and sighs. Her insides swam, and everything felt like it was still. His little dewy eyes had captured her. Reminded her of home. She didn’t know why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He likes you.” His voice was so soft that if Kar’ta hadn’t been paying attention close enough, she wouldn’t have heard. It was caring, nurturing, it ached of love. For the little green bean. It truly was his foundling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then he has good taste,” Kar’ta said, a soft smile pulling at her lips. “Come to me anytime, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ik’aad</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kar’ta purred to the small baby, who happily cooed at her words. “If your </span>
  <em>
    <span>buir</span>
  </em>
  <span> is ever mean to you, I’ll hit him with my axe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s enough,” Mando said, as Kar’ta chuckled softly behind her helmet. He tucked the child away, into some kind of little cradle that trailed after him. The little thing protested heartily, but eventually laid back into the cushion, and the top of it sealed over. He rested a hand on top of it, and turned his eyes to Vanth, who had been watching the entire exchange with a grimace on his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mind if we have a word? Alone?” Mando said, gesturing to Kar’ta who looked very interested to hear what he had to say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Say less,” Vanth said awkwardly. “Don’t want to spend more time with you two than I have to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Marshal slinked out of the cantina, leaving only the two Mandalorians, the sleeping baby, and the Weequay behind the bar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have some spotchka,” Kar’ta called to him, following the Mandalorian who pushed her toward one of the many open tables. It was the perfect place to talk. Literally, no one was there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Weequay got to work, as Kar’ta sat across from Mando, inspecting his every move very carefully. She was still working on gauging what kind of Mandalorian he was. She had known many, lived among them her whole life. But not all of them were as orthodox as her clan had been, as she believed they should be. Overtime, many of the clans had subverted to the Empire or the New Republic, losing the Ways and abandoning the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Resol’nare</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She didn’t know if he followed their kind. As a Child of the Watch, which his Aurebeshian accent and signet led her to believe he was, it was unlikely that he did not adhere to the same strict code she did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But still. Actions were everything. He still had much to prove, in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Kar’ta asked, not favoring the silence as much as Mando did. He was simply looking at her instead of saying anything. And it did little to ease her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been looking for my kind, and was told that I would find you here, at Mos Pelgo,” he breathed, his voice that same monotonous honey it had been before. “They say you know where I can find a Jedi.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta inhaled a sharp breath, nostrils flaring and fists tightening at the very mention of that word. It took everything in her not to stand up and leave the cantina right then and there. But it occurred to her in her red hot flash of anger, that this Mandalorian, having not grown up on Mandalore, likely had no idea of the significance of what he just said. She had to go easy on him. It was her duty as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mando’ade</span>
  </em>
  <span> to keep him from becoming a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dar’manda</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not the Mandalorian you have heard of,” Kar’ta said, putting forth great effort to remain calm. “I do not consort with the Jedi. I doubt many Mandalorians would.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t see his eyes, but she read body language well enough to tell that he was disappointed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dank farrik,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he seethed under his breath, his fist slamming the table. “Do you know where any others are? I’ve been looking but-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We are hard to find,” Kar’ta finished for him, lifting up the bottom of her helmet so she could suck in a deep drink of spotchka. “I too have been looking. For over nine years, and have found nothing. We are as good at hiding as we are at looking.” The spotchka burned her throat pleasantly, and she took note of how he averted his eyes when she drank.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you’ll help me find one after we kill the dragon? As agreed?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There it was. A slight hint of desperation. Finally, some emotion to coat his words. It gave her something to use, something to ground the foundations of who he was as a man on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta nodded. “Of course. You asked. This is the Way.” She raised her glass to him, and proceeded to down the rest of it in one gulp. “But I must ask, why are you seeking out the Jedi? They, who sought our destruction for centuries? I don’t understand.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice was dark as she spoke, it reeked of pain, past transgressions that would forever be impossible to heal. It sparked the Mando’s curiosity, enough so that he could not keep himself from continuing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you sound like you hate them so much?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta wasn’t sure if she wanted to answer that. If she felt like now was the right time. He would have to know. As a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mando’ade</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was of the utmost importance to learn the histories. But she was tired. Her journey had been long, and she was hungry, and she did not want to relive old battles. Not right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you looking for one?” She hoped the question would stave off his interest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For the kid,” he spoke easily, gesturing toward the cradle. “He has… Powers. He’s special. He needs training.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta creased her brows. She did not understand. At the very least, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to imagine that little fuzzball turning into the same things that had taken down so many of those that she loved. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want to do that,” Kar’ta urged, shaking her head shortly. “You would give up your foundling to go to the Jedi? After…” She swallowed her words, her eyes threatening to spill over. It would be too inconvenient to have her viewport fog over. She couldn’t cry. Not now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s what’s best for him,” Mando spoke, his words slow, and tinged in grief. Grief that had not yet come to pass. “And he’s not my foundling. Not officially, at least.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kar’ta couldn’t help but shed her surprise. That, made less sense than him wanting to give the kid up to the Jedi. It was obvious to her that they shared a special bond, one that had been tested by a variety of dangers she could only guess at. The way he talked about the baby, the way he held him, and protected him… He was putting the adoption off for some reason. Kar’ta wanted to know why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But, from the look of his squared shoulders, it seemed that she would be getting no such answer from him today.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Suvarir</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kar’ta conceded, “even though I think you are making a bad decision, I will help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pushed herself up from the table, and tapped the side of her helm to account for the darkness that slowly approached outside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Vor entye</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said slowly, his eyes trained on the table, though he was clearly speaking to her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We owe each other a debt,” she clarified, bowing her upper half to him in respect, before walking out of the cantina. “This is the Way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She left the cantina with three things in mind. Her mission had been very simple when she arrived; retrieve Boba’s armor. But now, it had evolved into much more. She would retrieve Boba’s armor. She would also help the Mandalorian find the others he sought out. But perhaps most importantly, she would find a way to convince the Mandalorian to take responsibility over his foundling. That baby, she decided, didn’t belong with anyone but him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. My Kid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Put your prejudices aside, di’kut,” she seethed, knocking the rest of his spotchka on the ground and pointing her finger right in his face. “Our only hope of taking down that dragon is with them. They have numbers we do not. Now, if you’re too much of a bigot to put aside your feelings, I would be happy to let you have a discussion with my axe, and take back the armor that way. What will you decide?”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kar’ta felt like she was treading on ice. Very, very thin ice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was only one unoccupied dwelling in the slums of Mos Pelgo, one that Cobb Vanth could afford to lend, at least. She didn’t mind sharing the space with the Mandalorian and the baby, but he had seemed opposed to it the moment Vanth suggested the idea. Although Kar’ta had been mostly alone for the last nine years, she had to remember that this Mando had likely been alone most of his life. And he didn’t trust her. Not yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Makings, for disaster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still in a bad mood from their conversation with Vanth earlier, Kar’ta could tell. They had discussed the krayt dragon, the last whereabouts of its dwelling that Vanth was aware of, and what his plan was to stop it. Kar’ta got Vanth to admit at least that his plan was complete shit. It would be impossible to take down a dragon of that size with the handful of adult humanoids in the town. They didn’t have the firepower, nor the numbers, and even with the sophisticated artillery of herself and the other Mando, it wouldn’t be enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta had mentioned her desire to confer with the Tuskens in the Jundland Wastes, to which Vanth had reacted extremely poorly. Him and Mando had gotten in a bit of an… altercation, after that. Mando was very defensive of the Sandpeople. Very defensive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta had suggested they split for the night, and figure it out in the morning, to which both men had heartily agreed. But now, she found herself inside of an abandoned homestead, barely enough light for either of them to see through their visors, in complete silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was sat against the wall, the little baby waddling around between her legs as he chased one of the lasers on her arm cuff. The little thing cooed and whirred in excitement the closer he got to the blue laser, but just when he thought he’d get it, she’d move it away, and he would start at it again, even more determination than last time. His green ears flopped jovially with every step, and his large eyes twinkled with the satisfaction of his work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything he did, every little sound, look, everything - it awoke something buried deep inside of her. It reminded her of the children of her clan. To the Mandalorians, children were </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They carried the future of the clan on their backs. They were given whatever they could want or need, raised with the utmost precision and care. Loved by all. Cherished. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Protected.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiled behind her helmet, turning off the laser, and picking up the baby where he had chased it. His wide, wondering eyes bore straight into her own, so much so, that she wondered if he could see her eyes through her visor. His little fingers reached out, touching the chin of her helm, tugging it softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyar’ika</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kar’ta murmured, gently poking his nose with her gloved finger. “I cannot show you my face. Just like your </span>
  <em>
    <span>buir</span>
  </em>
  <span> cannot show you his.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The little thing tilted his head at her, as if he understood every word, but was still confused about the meaning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the opposite wall, Mando watched her. He was standing, arms folded and imposing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta turned her eyes back to the baby, and set him down between her folded legs. His fingers gripped her own, and he cooed happily in her arms. From the way the Mandalorian across from her had spoken about the child, she assumed he had told him nothing of Mandalore, or the ways that he was bound by. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An idea came to mind. One that made a deep smirk pull at her lips. Step one of giving this kid his forever home; she would share her stories.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I come from a place called Mandalore. I am of Clan Saxon, House Viszla. You see this triangle on my shoulder?” She picked up the baby so his fingers could trace over the signet that was branded into her beskar. “That is my signet. We were a great clan. Strong, and powerful. And one of the few left to practice the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Resol’nare</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The baby cooed in delight at the sound of her voice. And on the other side of the room, the Mandalorian had leaned forward. Ever so slightly. Listening in earnest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ik’aad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is the Way. We must never show our faces to anyone outside of our clan, our house, or our homestead. We keep our true names concealed from anyone who does not need to know, and devote our lives to the Creed. We train to become warriors from when we are no bigger than yourself, and do everything we can to please </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kad Ha’rangir, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>Arasuum</span>
  </em>
  <span> at bay.” Kar’ta tickled the underside of his chin, eliciting soft giggles from the baby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kad Ha’rangir</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the warrior god of Mandalore. His realm is not of this world, he lives in </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Kar’ta placed her hand over the space on her chest where her heart beat steadily. “He keeps us strong. Reminds us of our purpose. Preserves our souls.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The baby was completely enraptured, staring at her as though every word she said was the most important thing he had ever heard. “Perhaps, since we journey tomorrow to complete a difficult task, we should make a sacrifice to him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The baby cooed excitedly, but the Mandalorian across the room swooped in and picked him up before Kar’ta could continue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. He’s seen enough killing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta raised her brows at Mando. He must have truly never been to Mandalore, or known anything of their traditions. It made her heart weep for him, and flickered a tinge of anger at the way the Death Watch had been conducting the training of their foundlings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Relax, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mando’ade</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kar’ta snipped, her hands reaching back out for the baby. “Our sacrifices don’t involve killing. You should know that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stared at her for a long moment, his head seeming to run through a list of possible scenarios. She flexed her fingers impatiently, willing him to understand just how annoying he was being in this moment. Eventually, he sighed, and handed the baby back to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Udesirr</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you should also know that it is against the Creed to harm another Mandalorian’s foundling. Even though you haven’t taken the vow, I still consider him yours. I would never hurt him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” His voice was still and even. It infuriated her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then relax, for the love of the gods. Relax. I am on your side.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t bother to watch him retreat back toward the wall. Instead, she turned her attention back to the baby, and tickled at his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She reached into a pocket on the underside of her breast plate, and pulled out a small rock. It was blue and gold, twinkling dimly in the light the homestead afforded. The baby took immediate interest in it, chewing on it with his tiny teeth, and grunting in frustration when it wouldn’t give.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This was given to me when I was very young, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyar’ika</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kar’ta murmured, “and tonight I will offer it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kad Ha’rangir</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so that your father and I shall have safe travels, and overcome the krayt dragon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The baby looked at the crystal in his hand, a slight battle seeming to happen behind his eyes. But eventually, he let out a tiny sigh, and handed the crystal back to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very good, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyar’ika</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The baby pulled his teeth back in the sweetest smile Kar’ta had ever seen, and then began to rub at his little eyes, soft sighs and coos coming from him. He was exhausted, Kar’ta could tell. It had been a very big day for a very tiny little one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slowly stood, unclipping her burgundy cape from her back and softly placing it in a pile on the floor. With gentle hands, she lowered the baby into the tiny bundle, and pulled the cloak up to his tiny chin. It took barely more than a minute for him to fall asleep. Kar’ta smoothed the blankets over his belly, her heart swelling at the sight of him, peaceful and calm in his sleep. He was… Perfect. The perfect mixture of everything strange and everything sweet. No wonder the Mandalorian had been so willing to take him in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are good with him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mando’s words startled her. She turned her helmet to face him. He sat with his back against the wall, legs outstretched, fingers folded. He seemed as though he was appraising her, assessing her value, or rather, deciding whether or not he could trust her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I spent much of my time on Mandalore helping to raise the children,” Kar’ta said, caressing the baby’s face before walking over to Mando and sitting down on the ground beside him. “It is like second nature to me, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not me,” he said, a hint of insecurity in his tone. His hands fumbled together uncomfortably. “I worry all the time that I’m not doing right by him. I… I’ve barely managed to keep him safe, up to this point.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His words were bold, and truthful. Kar’ta could tell it was taking a lot for him to say that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mando,” Kar’ta murmured, putting her hand on his shoulder in hopes of comforting him a bit. The gesture, instead, made him retreat in discomfort. He was a real piece of work. “He is happy. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. I can see it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mando said nothing back to her, head turned toward the sleeping form of the baby on the ground. Kar’ta looked back, her lips tugging once more into a smile at the sight of his drooping ears and slightly open mouth, soft snores emitting from him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you two find each other?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He was a bounty,” Mando said simply, “I was offered more credits than you could imagine. But when the time came, I couldn’t leave him behind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta’s brows knit together. Who would put a bounty on a child? That was something she had never heard of. Although she herself had never become a bounty hunter, she had lived under Boba Fett for the better part of five years, and had seen and heard his stories. Not once had he mentioned taking on a child. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who would put a bounty on a child?” Kar’ta asked in disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who do you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta pressed her lips into a firm line. Something about that one sentence stung her deeply. Of course, it would be the Empire. There was no other organization more malicious and ill-meaning in the galaxy. They had brought fire down upon her home planet. And she was sure they would have no qualms with murdering a force-sensitive baby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pigs,” Kar’ta spat, her fingers clenching at her sides. “I thank the gods that it was you who found him. Your souls were meant to cross paths.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mando didn’t say anything, looking more uncomfortable, if it was even possible, at her words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She fingered the rock between her fingers, and held it up in offering to him, hoping to bridge the gap from the topic that was clearly upsetting him. “Come sacrifice with me. You will feel better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His shoulders raised slightly, and a deep breath left his lips. “I don’t know about that. We were never taught the religious methods in the Watch. I thought those ways had died out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta shook her head. “No, not entirely. My clan was one of the last to practice. It is a legacy I carry as a heavy burden. But I will raise my children to know the gods. This is the Way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seemed to contemplate her. Everything about her was an enigma to him. Even though she was the most familiar person he had seen in years, a Mandalorian - a </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mandalorian. One who knew so much that it made him feel dumb. He didn’t understand so much of what she said, the way she spoke and carried herself. It wasn’t like what the Death Watch had told him. She wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. But still, everytime she spoke, he hung on every word. He wanted to know more. He so </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperately</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to know more about his distant home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll watch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta smiled, although she knew he could not see it, and led him out of the homestead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_______</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The Tuskens seemed pleased to see them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta and Mando had been sitting among the tribe elders for some time now, listening to their description of the krayt dragon and its whereabouts. They seemed more than willing to work with whoever they needed to to get rid of it. As one of the elders described, it had killed several of their banthas and younglings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A treaty had been arranged, but Kar’ta was wary. She knew that it was unlikely Cobb Vanth would enter into it. To the people of Tatooine, the Tuskens were terrorists. Even though they had occupied the planet first. Eons ago, Tatooine had been home to only the Sandpeople. Humanoids hadn’t been introduced until roughly four hundred years ago. A fact they all seemed to conveniently forget. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Mando seemed confident. Kar’ta didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t going to pan out like he thought, so she simply went along for the ride.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the talk with Cobb Vanth went… About as well as expected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is no way in </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m working with those demons,” he hissed, slurping down a long drink of spotchka as they all sat together in the cantina some hours later. “They’ve raided our village numerous times, taken supplies and drained our moisture stores. We’ll do it without those hellions-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, Vanth,” Kar’ta said. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re the ones encroaching on their land, not vice-a-versa?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scoffed, and spit on the ground at his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Put your prejudices aside, </span>
  <em>
    <span>di’kut</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she seethed, knocking the rest of his spotchka on the ground and pointing her finger right in his face. “Our only hope of taking down that dragon is with them. They have numbers we do not. Now, if you’re too much of a bigot to put aside your feelings, I would be happy to let you have a discussion with my axe, and take back the armor that way. What will you decide?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mando looked between the two of them, incredibly uncomfortable, and impressed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanth’s eyes travelled down to Kar’ta’s hip, where her hand closed around the butt of a gleaming beskar axe. He swallowed thickly, and pushed her hand away from his face. The movement wasn’t rude, it was more of a concession, and Kar’ta was satisfied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Kar’ta said, her hand ruffling Vanth’s hair playfully. “I knew you could be a reasonable man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so, after hours of high tensions and consistent planning, they loaded every piece of weaponry they had, humanoids and Tuskens together, and traveled out beyond the Judland Wastes to the cave where the krayt dragon dwelt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a hot day. Too hot. Kar’ta was sweating heavily beneath all the layers of her armor. Even the coolant that swirled through the surface lining of her underarmor wasn’t enough to keep the arid climate at bay. She was incredibly uncomfortable. Sand was all over her body, she was dehydrated, and hot. And Mando seemed to be in the same predicament. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were laying at the top of a dune, watching the Tuskens and village people as they set up the landmine and the turrets. Cobb Vanth was on her right, Mando was on her left, and the baby was in his strange little cradle just behind them. Through her viewfinder, she searched for any heat signature indicating that the dragon was awake, but he was too cool. Still sleeping. Thank the gods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you really think this is gonna work?” Vanth said, looking at her wearily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It better,” she replied simply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Either way, we’re leaving with that armor,” Mando said, his voice strained as he took Kar’ta’s viewfinder and looked through it. Kar’ta laughed a bit at his words, but quickly stopped upon seeing Vanth’s scowl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s kidding Vanth,” she ribbed. “Mostly kidding.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took another two grueling hours of preparation before the mines were set and the Tuskens felt that they were okay to proceed. Kar’ta watched in pure amusement as Mando communicated with them, using his arms and grunting out low and incoherent noises that the Tuskens responded to freely. She too could speak Tusken. It was part of the Mandalorian Creed to know many languages, utility was a virtue, but speaking it was not something she liked to do. The tones were too low for her throat. Apparently, not for Mando’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>another</span>
  </em>
  <span> two hours before the conflict was finally complete. The krayt dragon was dead, meat being harvested by hundreds of Tuskens and village people alike, and Kar’ta was drenched in sweat. Mando’s armor was covered in the insides of the beast, and he too looked worse for wear. By the time Vanth had shed his armor, given it to Kar’ta, and they had said their goodbyes, Kar’ta and Mando didn’t have the spirit for talking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her skin was prickling too uncomfortably under her armor, and she could feel her damp hair irritating her skin from where it pressed under her helmet. In the setting suns of Tatooine, the air felt even hotter than it did at midday. She was so uncomfortable, that she could hardly celebrate their victory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t been</span>
  <em>
    <span> that</span>
  </em>
  <span> difficult. They had lost a few villagers and Sandpeople, and Kar’ta had whispered her blessings for them. But beyond that, it had been fairly easy when Mando had realized that he could use one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>several</span>
  </em>
  <span> thermal detonators on his person. Once he had decided to fly into the mouth of the dragon, Kar’ta knew exactly what he was going to do. And it worked out perfectly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But now, she was exhausted. And uncomfortable. And she wanted to complete her mission with Mando and his foundling as quickly as possible, so she could get the armor back to Boba Fett. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A message from said man flashed over the commlink on her arm as she leaned against her speeder, the binary suns setting in the distance. Mando was loading some cargo on to his speeder, whatever Vanth could spare (resources were scarce, but Mando had absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> back at his ship, and Vanth was all too happy to provide.) The only person around was the little baby. He sat on the side of the speeder, his gigantic ears flopping in the soft breeze. Kar’ta put her finger up to where her lips were under her helmet, and pointed at the baby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He giggled. She was sure he had no idea what that meant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The message flashed in her visor as she held her arm close to her face:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Any luck?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta quickly punched in a few lines with nimble fingers, and sent the message through before Mando got back to his speeder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>The best. You owe me, </b>
  <b>
    <em>ruug’la jag.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Will rendezvous within the next fortnight. Wait for my call.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took barely a second for his response to patch through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Will do, my girl. You outdid yourself.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta didn’t bother sending anything back, but smiled at the fondness of his message. She could imagine him saying that to her. Usually, nice comments were followed up by a gentle shove on the back of her helmet, something his father had done often with him. Kar’ta used to scrunch up her nose and push his arm away every time. But now, she found that she missed it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you want that armor?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta’s head snapped up, and she shoved her arm behind her back. It was Mando.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t belong to him,” she said simply, clearing her throat of her surprise. “The man it belongs to is a friend of mine. I intend to give it back to him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he a Mandalorian?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta didn’t know how to answer that question. No, Boba Fett was not a Mandalorian. Not a true one, at least. Perhaps he could be considered a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dar’manda</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that armor had belonged to his father. Family armor was a very important part of Mandalorian culture. If it were any other person, Kar’ta would not have gone to such great lengths to return their armor. Especially if it were Mandalorian armor, and they were not a Mandalorian. But she owed Boba Fett a life debt. He would always mean something to her, more than anyone could ever understand. So anything he asked of her, she would have to do. And she would do it gladly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, most importantly, she would protect him with her life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she lied, impressed with the strength of her own conviction. “But he will not know about the location of your </span>
  <em>
    <span>jetii</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I promise. He hates the Jedi more than anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mando seemed to be contemplating her words as Kar’ta hauled herself on top of her speeder. She wasn’t going to let this line of questioning go any further. No matter how much he wanted to ask. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>so badly </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted to ask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mando’ade</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If we don’t leave soon we won’t make it to Mos Eisley in time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded, tying the last piece of krayt meat to the side of his speeder. Kar’ta watched him put the little baby into a pouch on the side of the speeder, and Kar’ta scrunched her face up underneath her helmet at the sight. Was that really how he travelled there? With the baby in a sack on the side of a 70 click speeder?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, why don’t you let me take him,” Kar’ta murmured, trying very hard to conceal her disapproval.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Mando asked, his tone of voice completely innocent. As if he could truly not see the issue with what was happening there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if to confirm, the baby chortled happily in the little bag that he was in. These two were beyond anyone’s help.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t think the baby should ride in a… bag.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mando looked down at the kid, who gripped the side of the burlap fabric with tight and joyful fingers. Although he did look perfectly content, Kar’ta hoped that Mando did understand that the baby was not old enough to make decisions for himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was fine on the way here,” Mando remarked, seemingly a bit stung at Kar’ta’s criticism.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta rolled her eyes behind her helmet and leaned over, picking up the little slug with her gloved fingers and tucking him tightly against her stomach. The child clapped his hands excitedly, cooing in awe as Kar’ta pulled her burgundy cloak around his tiny body, so as to shield him from the wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? Much safer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mando looked between Kar’ta and the empty bag, as if he was trying to formulate some kind of defense in his brain. But Kar’ta didn’t wait, she kicked her speeder to life, and gestured toward his own. “Come on, Mando. We have to go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t drop my kid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kar’ta smiled, revving the gears of her speeder and taking off into the sand flats. She couldn’t help but fixate on his words as he chased after her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My kid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had said ‘my kid.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope everyone is okay with the ridiculous amount of creative liberties i am taking here. i have done SO MUCH research about mandalorian culture, but i also want to find a way to make this story unique. little fun fact about me, my favorite tv show that isn't star wars related is vikings, and so, i am pretending that mandalorians are very much like vikings (at least the clan kar'ta comes from) and i know that's not correct but it's just wut i'm doin.</p><p>i'm sorry if that's super upsetting cause i've been there, i too get upset with fic writers take too many liberties sometimes. but this is so much fun for me to write so imma keep doing it.</p><p>also, check out my tumblr if you get a chance : @red-leaders</p><p>y'all are the best. xx</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WOW that was lore heavy. Here’s some definitions to make your lives easier:</p>
<p>Cur autem vadam: Festian for “I don’t want you to go.”<br/>Est meum officium: Festian for “It’s my duty.”<br/>Te amo, meos utrimque solem: Festian for “I love you, my sun on both sides” (shoutout @no-droids for that iykyk)<br/>* Fest is the planet that Cassian Andor came from, and Festian is their language. Since I couldn’t find ANYTHING on that (literally no translator or anything) I had to figure it out on my own, so I ended up using Latin bc imagine Diego Luna saying these phrases I would just combust</p>
<p>Gar cuyir mandokar: Mando’a for “Are you a Mandalorian?” (lit. “Do you have the virtue?)<br/>Ni cuy: Mando’a for “I am.”<br/>haran: Mando’a for “Hell” i.e. the place where dar’mandas go.<br/>Mando’ade gaa’tayl mando’ade: Mando’a for “Mandalorians help Mandalorians.”<br/>Manda: The Mandalorian afterlife or spiritual plane where the souls of mando’ades travel once they have passed on.<br/>ik’aad: Mando’a for “Baby.”<br/>buir: Mando’a for “Father.”<br/>mando’ade: A true Mandalorian.<br/>dar’manda: A Mandalorian who does not follow the Way, who has lost their soul.<br/>Resol’nare: The Way, or six structures the Mandalorians live by.<br/>Suvarir: Mando’a for “Okay,” (lit. “To understand.”)<br/>Vor entye: Mando’a for “Thank you,” (lit. “I owe you a debt.”)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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